With a second blow from Jarva’s sword, the [Great Wall of Nether] crumbled like an egg shell.

Momo observed the unfolding spectacle with a blend of horror and fascination. The barrier’s immense structure initially splintered into large, distinct plates before becoming infested with smaller, root-like fissures. The fissures spread like a disease—multiplying and multiplying—until the barrier reached its breaking point, shattering into countless fragments of obsidian.

“Wow,” Momo said, glancing upward. It was the only word that came to mind.

The fragments fell over her like snowflakes. She caught a bundle of them in the palm of her hand, and she saw her own reflection in the filmy, gauzy blackness—her white hair, braided in sections by Sumire, falling lazily over her shoulders, her horns, sharp and darkly red. She looked like a creature from another realm. A monster she would have been scared to find in her closet.

Odder still, she had never felt more like herself.

It felt as if—even on Earth, left to her own devices—she would have inevitably grown into this thing that’d she become. She would have dressed in cosplay and paraded around an anime convention in horrendously sewn-on horns and a ratty cape, her hair the victim of a horrific, 2am dye job. It was hard to imagine herself that brave, but a part of her believed it.

She looked towards the ground, towards the couriers littering it. Dozens of sheets of wrinkled paper splayed on shattered pavement. A question formed hazily in her head.

If she was a monster now, what would she become next?

“I’m going to level up. It’s the only way I’ll be able to be on equal footing with him,” Momo said to Sumire. “Can you cover me? Keep an eye on Jarva? I’ll try to make it snappy.”

“Of course, Mo.” Sumire motioned to the others to start moving. Viktor was shoving the Chickenductor back towards the church; Grimli was singing some dwarvish diddy, a war song that carried stat benefits to his surrounding team members. Nyk was standing there in a performatively apathetic way, but every so often her eyes would snap to Momo protectively.

Momo knelt down on the ground and reached for a courier—any courier, really—as she knew that it wouldn’t matter which one she chose. They operated like a hivemind. Whichever one she plucked from the ground first would morph into the one she needed to see.

These couriers are truly fascinating organisms. Whenever she finally traveled to the Nether again, she hoped to find the place that they came from, their home—a brooding nest of paper, she imagined, a giant fax machine.

She picked up one of the couriers, and the others immediately caught wind. They swirled in the air like a tornado before filing in a neat line behind the first. A staple made of Nether materialized, clamping the pages together and allowing Momo to quickly breeze through them.

The first four were level ups for Excalibur, including one or two evolved skills, but she didn’t take the time to review them. She could get to that later.

What she needed to do was to get the important part quickly—while Jarva was recharging his strength.

Congratulations! For obliterating an entire septet of Excaliburs in one electrifying move, you have reached level 10 in Nether Dokkaebi.

This is the [Expert] level cap. While you can continue earning skills outside this class, you cannot learn anymore skills from [Nether Dokkaebi].

Based on your attributes and previous actions, you can choose to evolve this class into one of the following [Excalibur] classes:

Momo’s eyes glazed over as she read the first three options. Holy shit.

Tears sprouted beneath her eyes.

I finally made it.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

[Necromage]: The Necromage is a spellcaster who wields an unsettling fusion of elemental and necromantic magic. They twist the forces of earth, water, fire, and air into tools of decay and destruction. With a touch of darkness, they turn water to poison, fire to unholy flames, and a cemetery into a field of venomous warriors. These sorcerers maintain a tenebrous connection to the natural world and corrupt it with their eerie mastery, causing widespread devastation and chaos with each incantation.

[Necropriest]: The Necropriest wields the most macabre of dark arts to breathe life into grotesque abominations, bound by chains of ethereal souls. They are sinister artisans who have mastered the forbidden craft of stitching together body parts from various creatures, implanting stolen souls, and animating these creations with unholy energy. With a mastery of necromancy and a mad scientist's zeal, they forge nightmarish, Frankenstein-like monstrosities that serve as loyal and formidable companions.

[Necroknight]: The Necroknight is a relentless warrior who has struck a sinister covenant with death itself. Wearing armor infused with the power of the abyss, they drain the life force of their foes with each swing of their wicked weapon. Unyielding in combat, these unholy knights wield the power to manipulate the deceased and inhabit their corpses as extensions of their own will. They are skilled in the art of necromancy, but their focus lies in a peculiar and unsettling ability to extend their fighting prowess by inhabiting hundreds of lifeless vessels.

Valerica. Sera. Azrael. It was mind boggling to see them reduced to class descriptions. Momo knew reaching Excalibur was different from any other class rank in one very crucial way—the Excalibur classes had been made for the individuals who wore those titles. There was no Necromage before there was Valerica. No Necropriest before Sera’s salacious soulcrafting. To don these titles would be to take on someone else’s dusty mantle. To step into their wrinkled hand-me-down shoes.

Momo’s eyes floated to the end of the page. The options seemed to end at Necroknight.

Is that it?

There was another page stapled to the back of this one. The possibility of more. She toyed with the edge of the parchment, but her breath wobbled anxiously in her throat.

Whatever class—or classes—lay beyond this page would be unlike any she’d gotten before. They would be classes that Morgana, or rather, Morgana’s System, had specifically generated to fit Momo, and no one but Momo. Completely unique profiles; specialized. Oddly enough, the very thought of it was paralyzing. She had spent so much of her life craving that very thing: for someone else to define her; for a teacher, a friend, a charismatic cult leader to pick her up, shake her around, and tell her: you’re this. This is who you are.

But now that it was here—that golden, shining moment where self-determinism could finally be tossed to the wayside—she felt something odd. A burning, hissing sensation in the back of her throat. She had been happy enough to let the System label her before—to call her a necromancer, a corrupted druid, a goblin, a fearsome beast—and in part, she was grateful for it. It had challenged her own self-perceptions. Made her feel large where before she had only ever felt small, inconsequential, an eroded pebble in a sea of mighty, self-motivated stones.

But something had shifted.

For the first time, going into this process, she didn’t want her circumstances to decide for her. She didn’t want to be satisfied rummaging around in someone else’s closet, picking from their hand-me-downs. She wanted to forge her own path, whatever that looked like.

Something that she could be proud of.

Taking a breath in, she turned the page.

Based on your attributes and actions, the System has generated the following choices for you.

Warning: Only some of these classes have been approved by Morgana to be feasible for one entering the Circle of the Lich. Due to the rules of the System, Morgana cannot forbid you from choosing certain classes once generated, but your choice might have ramifications for your future alignment with the Gods.

Warning: If you are to choose one of the new Excalibur classes listed below, that class will be available to all necromancers who rise to Excalibur, and subsequent Novice, Adept, and Expert tiers of this class will be created. Due to this, choosing a new Excalibur class is a much more monumental choice than you have been given before, as it has ramifications for all others in the System. You will be providing for those below you with a blueprint—a path—that they can follow, just as the Necromage, Necropriest, and Necroknight have done before you.

Momo swallowed. As she suspected—this was bigger than just her now. She was in a position to do what Valerica had done before her. Her choice could be the blueprint for her own Morgana’s Dawn; her own legion of naive and bitterly loyal students following in her footsteps. The idea seemed insane to her. Her path to this point had been hilarious, haphazard, insane, ridiculous. She was in no position to be a teacher, a trailblazer. She was just Momo.

“Momo,” Sumire shouted out, crashing straight into her inner monologue. “Not to rush you, but I don’t think we have much longer.”

Momo followed Sumire’s finger towards the sky. Jarva’s sword was back in the air.

Crap. Crap. Crap. Okay.

She turned the page.